"Carnistir!"

I heard Ammë's voice over the whipping sea-winds. I turned to face her, my salt-encrusted hair flying behind me. She stumbled over the sands to me, slightly bent as she was prone to doing those days. I caught her in my arms before she fell over. She was so much smaller than me now. "Ammë, why did you come out here?"

"I couldn't find you, Carnistir. I'm worried about you." She touched my cheek. "You never smile anymore."

I suppressed the laugh in my throat. When had I ever smiled?

"Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing, Ammë. Please don't worry about me."

She gazed down at the sand and shook her head. "Come home, Carnistir. We miss you."

Makalaurë missed me. I stared out at the rolling waves.

"Findaráto came by looking for you."

I turned back to her, startled. "Why?"

"He wants to go hunting with you. Let's return to Tirion, he's waiting for you."

I sighed and followed her up the dunes and back into Tirion. When we stepped onto the cobblestone street, I realized I had left my sandals down by the sea. Ammë saw me looking at my feet. "We'll get them later." I cringed, hating the thought of meeting Findaráto without any shoes on. I dusted my feet of the sand as best I could and continued on, very self-conscious of my state.

We arrived at the house, but when I entered, I froze.

Seated in the reception room was not my cousin Findaráto, but a tall elf I had never seen before. He wore a red tunic and a matching cloak. His face was fair, fairer beyond any other I had known, even fairer than Findaráto and Írrisë. He smiled when he saw me. My face grew hot as I remembered my bare feet. For some reason, I felt compelled to bow before this stranger, and I inclined my head. He laughed softly, and I stiffened. When I looked up, I saw Atar seated opposite the elf, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Morifinwë," he said, his voice toneless, "this is Lord Melkor of the Valar. Lord Melkor, this is my fourth son, Prince Morifinwë Carnistir."

I was surprised with the formality he bestowed on me. Usually, Atar skimmed over me in introductions, giving me a mere, "Morifinwë." I turned toward our guest again with another bow, wondering why one of the Valar, particularly this Vala, decided to pay us a visit. I had heard of Lord Melkor, certainly, but he never interested me much. I had too many other things to worry about than muse over the once-imprisoned, now pardoned Vala who mingled with the Noldor so freely.

I wanted to ask Atar about Findaráto, but my better judgment warned me in time for once. Perhaps it was the ominous, respect-demanding presence of the Vala. In any case, I left the room quickly. As I made my way down the hall, I heard Atar introducing Ammë to Lord Melkor. I entered my room and closed the door.

I did not leave for a long time. Confusing emotions swirled around inside me. I did not like Lord Melkor, that much I knew already. I did not understand why, though. The thought of leaving my room terrified me. All previous burdens, once so important, such as Tyelkormo and Curufinwë and dear, sweet Írrisë, were now replaced by a gnawing discomfort and agitation. I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, reciting Maka's poetry and not really thinking about the words. I must have fallen asleep, because then Ammë gently shook me awake.

"Carnistir. Carnistir, get up. Put your things in this bag." Her voice was sharp.

I sat up, half-awake, and stared down at the large canvas bag Ammë handed me. "Wha – why?"

Ammë stepped in front of the window, gathering my rumpled clothing off the floor, and I could see her better. Her face was screwed up in annoyance. "Pack only necessities. Perhaps a few other things. We're moving. Or rather, you're moving. I'll take care of what you leave behind."

I blinked. My brain swirled like the sea. "Now?"

"Now."

I could not comprehend it. I slid off the bed, dragging the bag behind me. "Why?"

"Your father no longer wishes to remain here." She straightened and smiled a small smile. "You won't be far."

"'You'?" I repeated, stuffing some of the clothing into the bag. "Why not 'we'?"

"Your father's whims tire me, my son. I will still be here. Waiting for you. It's not far."

I threw down the bag. "No! Either we stay here with you or you come with us!"

Ammë took my hands. I stared down at them, tears spilling from my eyes. I remembered when my hands hardly filled hers. Now hers barely filled mine. "Ammë, I can't leave you. I don't care what Atar says. I'm staying with you."

She gazed up into my eyes with a sort of loving fierceness. "You will do what your father wants, Carnistir." She squeezed my hands. "I won't be far. You may come here whenever you like."

I could form no rational words. I kept repeating between my tears, "Why now? What is it? Why?"

"He will tell you, my son. Now quickly. You do not want to incite your father's wrath. Any more."

I wiped my eyes. "Why is he angry?"

She shook her head. "He will tell you." Then she quickly moved over to the wardrobe and gathered the rest of my clothing. I collected my things in a dream. Why was it happening so fast? Why couldn't the world go on as it always had? Who could understand my father's mind?

Two hours found all six of us packed and ready to leave. Maka was there as well. Atar gave Ammë a hasty kiss before he left like the house would collapse on him if he stayed. The others made their farewells. The twins cried. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë acted like they didn't care. I couldn't tell what Maitimo was thinking. I could never tell what he was thinking, actually. I was the last, and I lingered. I flung my arms around Ammë and never wanted to let go. But at length, she touched my arms and whispered, "Go on, Carnistir. You'll be fine. I'm here, and you won't be far." A strange silence stretched between us, and when she spoke again, my heart chilled. She knew something I didn't, and the unknown always frightened me. For days afterwards, her words rang in my head, ominous and, strangely, deadly.

"Not yet."